


Trailer Trash

by confiscatedretina



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Domestic, F/F, Gen, Petstuck, ufutverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-13
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 04:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confiscatedretina/pseuds/confiscatedretina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The name on your ID says Vriska Serket and you're determined to rebuild your life in this little piece of nowhere. Rent is cheap and your boss doesn't care that you weren't eighteen for the first four years you worked at the diner. Things are looking tolerable and you're all set to be a small town nobody for the next sixty years until the day you find someone hiding under your trailer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vienna Sausage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Unwanted Free Ugly Troll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/477092) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



> This work was inspired by coldhope's adorable "Unwanted Free Ugly Troll" series, sacharineSylph's "Loophole", and terminallyArtistic's "Animal Control", all of which you should read. Whether it can fit into the UFUT universe is up for debate, but it certainly wouldn't exist without that series. It is, at least, a story that takes place in the universe next door.
> 
> I'm not 100% sure where this story is going, but the general idea was too appealing not to write down. Posting the opening chapter so I'll stop rewriting it. :D

There's something alive under your trailer.

You saw it early this morning when you left for work, gray and black in your truck's yellowed headlights. Its sluggish movement stuck in your mind all day as you bustled from table to table, dodging chairs and an occasional grasping hand with your precariously balanced orders. You wanted to buy some cat food before you came home but there wasn't enough tip money for something so frivolous, especially when you're still trying to save enough to get that new pair of glasses you badly need.

Now you crouch on your knees under the sink rummaging for a long-abandoned can of Vienna sausages that came in a food drive box at Christmas. Of course you still have it somewhere; you never waste food. Things you'd rather not eat can find their way into something resembling palatable eventually. It smells enough like cat food when you drain the can and mash it into a chunky paste with a fork. Maybe your guest won't care.

“Kitty, kitty,” you coo, crouching in the dry heat of late afternoon on the cracked concrete patch that serves as a porch. “Here you go, kitty.”

The animal in question stays in the hidden dark recesses under the trailer. You leave the open can in easy reach and go back inside. The door stays open in hopes of some cool air drifting through the screen and perhaps to catch sight of your under-house guest.

Yesterday's leftover meatloaf is warming in the microwave, the old tv tuned to the five o'clock news, when you glance out the open door. In the muggy afternoon light you see a hand inch out from under your trailer and grab the can. You take slow, calm steps to the door and hunch by the screen.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “I've got enough meatloaf for two and a working shower if you want to come in. I'll leave the door open until I go to bed.” You don't mention the guns tucked in strategic places around the trailer or that you are more than comfortable with their use.

There's no point sitting here waiting so you shuffle back to your lukewarm dinner. You watch the news without seeing and don't taste what passes for a meal. Dishes are clinking in the sink and you're contemplating turning in early for lack of anything else to do when the screen door creaks.

From the corner of your eye you can already tell she isn't human. You turn slowly to see her fiddling with the empty sausage can in gray-skinned fingers tipped with yellow nails. Her short black hair is tangled around two orange-gold horns and there's more than a day's worth of dirt on her jeans and t-shirt. You can smell her from here. Red, pointed glasses obscure her eyes.

“You said there's meatloaf?”


	2. Meatloaf

Her red glasses reflect your own tiny smile back at you before you turn to pull a clean plate out of the cupboard. 

If memory serves, she's one of the trolls you've heard about and which you'd seen from afar years ago. You leave her to eat in silence at the rickety little table and go back to the couch, pretending not to look at her. When she's finished with the plate, you're about to stand and take it to the sink but she beats you to it. Her steps are slow and dignified and her hands seem to quest just a little for the soap and sponge when she gets to the sink. You notice the white cane standing next to her backpack by the door and swallow your questions, turning back to the tv.

“That was pretty good,” you jump as her weight thumps onto the couch beside you.

“Uh, thanks,” her skin radiates a faint coolness against the day's dying heat. “My mom...er, it's a recipe I've always liked.”

“Cool.”

For someone who deals with people daily, you find it odd how suddenly introverted you feel. This is the first troll you've ever met in person, but that seems a poor excuse. You stare at the tv in silence anyway and try not to flinch away from her tufted tail brushing your leg.

“Terezi,” she says when the next commercial break starts.

“What?” you blink at her outstretched hand.

“My name,” her black lips quirk in a smile and you're sure the eyes behind those red glasses must be rolling. “Terezi Pyrope.”

The lie comes to you as easily as it has for the past six years when you grasp her hand. “Vriska Serket.”

Bony fingers tense under her cool skin in your grip. She leans forward slightly, friendliness melting away. You squeeze her hand a little harder and try not to lean back. Terezi draws a breath in through her nose. When she speaks, you see the sharp points of her teeth. 

“That's not a human name,” her dark brows lower.

“Apparently not.”

“Why do you have it?”

If you're honest with yourself, you never expected to meet a troll in person when you picked the name. You didn't know it would be so important to one. Unbidden, a memory of the tv playing news footage in the background of a dingy DMV waiting room crawls through your head.

“I heard it on a news report,” you sigh, telling the truth for the first time since you were fourteen. “I needed a name at the time.”

After a tense moment, Terezi finally lets your hand go and leans back against the couch. “Okay. Fair enough.”

Awkward silence descends between you again while you are irrationally relieved that she isn't going to ask for your birth name. You twist your hands in your lap and bite your lip, curiosity gnawing at your brain. Oh, what the hell, why not just give in?

Taking a deep breath and keeping your gaze on the tv you blurt, “So, uh, you're blind, right? How'd that happen?” If you could somehow kick yourself in the head right now, you would.

“You've got me pegged, detective,” Terezi snorts a laugh. “Teal bloods are sensitive to light and I got a good, long look at some when I was a grub.”

She pulls her glasses down and your mouth sags open just a little as you stare into a pair of scorched eyes as red as the lenses in her hand. The iris is just barely distinguishable against vivid crimson sclera and you see what looks like a clotted mass of scar tissue at the center where her pupils should be.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Gorgeous, aren't they?” her grin is wicked, full of mirth.

A startled but genuine laugh escapes you. “Sure. I'll never forget them.” Then it sets in what she's said. “...'Teal blood'?”

“Yeah. Trolls have different blood colors. At least twelve distinct types with plenty of variations in between.”

“Huh,” all you can do is blink dumbly.

“You don't know much about trolls, do you?”

“Uh, no. We...I was never allowed to have any pets,” her brows lower again, “Er, not that I think of you like an animal or something, it's just that I, um...”

Terezi throws her head back and cackles gleefully. The sound makes your hair stand on end. She shoves your shoulder in a sort of gruff affection and you smile hesitantly in the face of her sharp grin.

“Lighten up, Serket!” she smirks. “By the letter of the law, I am an animal. It's changing thanks to your namesake and some chumps in Baltimore, but six years isn't enough time.”

“You don't seem like an animal...”

“Says the human calling me 'kitty kitty' a few hours ago.” 

Your horrified silence says everything and Terezi starts laughing again. She jabs you in the shoulder with one sharp nail and you chuckle a little despite the embarrassed red of your cheeks.

“You did eat that can of cat food trying too hard to pass itself off as edible for humans.”

“Damn right I did,” she looks smug. “You would, too, if your last meal was a half eaten burger some jag off at the bus depot gave you three days ago.”

The lightened atmosphere between you grows subdued. “Shit. Really?”

“Mmhmm,” she folds her arms across her narrow chest.

“God. Why?”

“Just...running from my own demons, I guess,” her voice is quiet.

That's a sentiment you know all too well. You pat her bony shoulder awkwardly and resolve not to ask any more painful questions. Everyone has secrets they need to hold close.

“There's, uh...the shower's to the right of the door, just behind the tv, if you want to use it.”

“Thanks,” she looks suddenly tired and you can't help but be reminded of that scared teenager sleeping under a bench by this town's only motel that was you six years ago.

Sagging into the couch, you watch Terezi make her way to your tiny shower. As the water comes on you wonder what you've just brought into your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, those were some itty bitty references to "Unwanted Free Ugly Troll" and it's sister fic "Loophole" in there.


	3. Mac n' Cheese

Unexpectedly, it appears to be a blessing that you only do your laundry every few weeks. Adult trolls sleep in piles of soft things or items they cherish and Terezi opted to bury herself in your small mountain of dirty clothes instead of sleep on the couch. She snores softly, tail twitching, as you quietly get ready for work in the hazy hour before dawn. You smile at her limp hand, her fingers twitching, before shutting the door and heading for your truck.

“Hey, Travis?” you and your boss are taking chairs off the tables, setting up for the day. “Is it alright with Gary if someone is staying at my trailer for a bit?”

Travis quirks an eyebrow and grins. “Was wonderin' when you'd ever get company for yourself over there.”

Color burns into your cheeks. “It's, uh, not that kind of company. She just needs a place to stay.”

“You've been a good tenant according to Gary, so I doubt he'll mind. You can ask him direct at lunch if you wanna. He's stoppin' by.”

Nodding, you go back to work and wonder what Travis or Gary would have to say about your house guest not being human. They're pretty open-minded guys but this town is small enough to have never seen a live troll on its streets. Thank god you live half an hour's drive away.

As predicted, Gary Makara, outstanding individual and landlord extraordinaire in your mind, has no objections to Terezi's presence. You didn't think he would since he's always felt you did him a favor by renting the trailer after poor old Mrs. Egbert had died in it and lay undiscovered for three days. He let you have it for half the usual rent and you'd had enough ghosts of your own then to keep the old woman's from troubling you. Out of respect for her, you've kept most of her belongings for the past six years (she'd had no relatives who wanted any of it). It always seemed only fair since, through her loss, Mrs. Egbert gave you a new lease on life.

Terezi is still in the laundry pile when you come home, wiping sweat from your brow with your smudged blue apron. She grumbles and lifts her head at the door's close, your favorite green shirt tangled over her horns. You can't quite stifle a snort of laughter.

“Time izzit?” her voice is even raspier than it was last night.

“Six thirty,” you toss your apron into the laundry beside her.

“Nnf,” her shoulders pop as she stretches her arms over her head.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I guess. It's been nice to have a safe place to get a good day's rest for once.”

You take a seat on the couch and watch the troll pad to her backpack in her ludicrous dragon print boxers and a t-shirt she'd pulled out of that same bag last night.

“Do you mind if I bum a last meal off you before I go, Vriska?” she says without looking at you, rummaging for pants in her bag.

“No, but, um,” you chew your lip. “I asked my landlord if I could have company over and he said it's fine if...if you want to stay for a few days. Maybe take a break from the road.”

Terezi pauses in her digging but you can tell by the motion in her upper arm that her fingers are moving still. Her posture seems to sag just a bit, shoulders relaxing.

“Will it be a problem that I'm mostly nocturnal?” there's the faintest hint of hope under her words.

“I can take the evening shift for awhile if it is,” you shrug. “I kind of hate getting up so early, to be honest.”

The backpack zips closed and Terezi stands, turning to you with a smile that is unexpectedly soft. “Thanks, Vriska.”

“Sure. I don't know your story but I think, maybe, I've been where you are.”

“God, I hope not,” she thumps down at the table, a brief, haunted look passing over her face.

In lieu of questioning her any more, you begin to rummage through your cupboards for something both of you can eat. You're about to ask Terezi what she'd like, one hand touching an old box of macaroni and cheese in a cupboard, when the spider skitters across your hand. It's gone in a heartbeat but you can still feel the echo of it's legs on your skin and all the air leaves your lungs in a choked gasp that ends in a tiny whimper deep in your throat. Terezi's chair scrapes on the floor.

“Vriska?” You know she's looking at you but you can't move. “Hey, Vriska? You okay?”

Blood roars in your ears, making the troll's voice sound distant. You try to tell yourself where you are, try to listen to what your body is telling you, but your mind blurs everything and you feel small and helpless all over again. A voice whispers in your head, words you refuse to hear but which have carved themselves deep on your psyche. Looking at your hand, still feeling the spider's feet on your skin, you see old, blue ink in the shape of a stylized arachnid on your mother's shoulder.

“Vriska,” you gasp as cool fingers touch your arm.

The present shudders back into focus and you pull your hand away from the cupboard, shaking.

“Sorry,” your voice is quiet. “I just...don't like spiders.”

She knows you aren't telling the truth, you can see it in the slight quirk of one black brow, but Terezi doesn't question you. Her cool fingers wrap around your arm in a steady grip, strong enough that you can't ignore their contact, light enough that you could break free if you wanted to. It's oddly reassuring. You take the chair Terezi has vacated and dig your fingers into your black hair, forcing the tears down. Terezi moves her hand to your shoulder, two fingers resting on the tip of a scar that's mostly hidden by your shirt's fabric.

“I guess we do have a few things in common,” she says.

“I guess,” to your own surprise, you crack a small, watery smile. “I'll be okay in a minute.”

“If I'm staying, I may as well figure out your kitchen.”

Time slips away from you for an instant but you come back when you hear the stove burner clicking on.

“Uh, Terezi...?” a pinch of awkward worry digs at you.

“Hope you like...” something rattles and she takes a sniff “...processed pasta noodles with powdered cheese sauce.”

When you turn in your seat she's giving you her shark-toothed grin while she dumps macaroni into a pot of boiling water. All the necessary ingredients are arranged on the counter beside the stove. Your mouth hangs open a little, questions unsaid.

“What? Didn't think a blind girl could cook, Serket?”

“No, I...that's not...”

Terezi snorts, still grinning. “You're a terrible liar, just so you know.”

You can't help but smile back. “Just around you.”

It's the best macaroni and cheese you've ever had.


End file.
